Blood Knight (story)
This story is part of 'The Skydancer Chronicle. ''The next installment is here: '' True Masters of the Light ''The previous installment is here: Blood Night Blood Knight BLOOD KNIGHTS HERALDED a new age for the sin’dorei. There are few privy to the exact details of the formation of the Blood Knight Order. Even I, amongst the first batch of recruits, know little of the exact details. Needless to say, we were back on our feet. Led by Regent-Lord Theron, we had re-established our structure and retaken the entire eastern side of Silvermoon. The Magisterium had returned in its glory, with what remained of the Farstriders forming our military base. For the time being. The streets whispered rumour of a new power gifted us by our Prince in Outland. The formation of the Order, with former priestess Liadrin at its head, only stirred interest further. Openly she renounced the Light, and talked of how soon, very soon, she would bend that which had betrayed us to her own will. That she, and what she called her Blood Knights, would be a shining sign of vengeance for the sin’dorei. Deep lust welled within me. A lust to be a part of this greatness. Every word that left her lips tickled across me, singing to me like sirens on the rocks, drawing me closer to that which I felt I needed so badly. A new power to be had. The mystery of this power, but the promise of great things. Maybe, I had thought, just maybe whatever it was would cease my headaches and incessant itching. Maybe I would make myself useful in my new world. Thaladien had begged me not to join the military. He never wanted me to witness the horrors of war which he had seen. “Sorry,” I whispered to his memory, “I’ve already seen worse than you will even know.” I took myself to be recruited as soon as I could. The Order had based itself in Farstrider’s Square. I noticed it had taken one of the larger buildings that once belonged to the rangers, and those that skulked around their business looked greatly disgruntled by the armour clad Knights, who were a strange and imposing sight. There were not many, but each of them made their mark. Tall, well built and in ominous black and crimson armour they were a force that bled dominance and confidence. Some I noticed from the militia that had formed before we had restructured. I noticed them as those who had told me of their previous military lives, or lives within the priesthood. Battle experience was clearly necessary for them, and I swallowed a lump in my throat, worrying that they would never take someone without it. Someone like me. The line was slowly dwindling, and I noticed for the first time that after a short talk, those applying were either sent away entirely, or placed in one of two groups. I learnt, as I approached and woefully informed them of my lack of military experience that the larger group was for those who were already trained in combat. My group, much smaller in comparison, was for people like me. Under normal circumstances, I feel I would have been turned away. Yet the never-ending need for us to take up arms and defend out home played to my favour. I glanced around my group, about twenty-five in all, and gave an awkward smile. I was about to introduce myself when we were ushered into the halls of the sanctum. The lager group went further down the surprisingly dark corridors. My group was kept just inside, and a dark haired elf with a permanent scowl on his face began addressing us. He told us a good many things. That our lives would change. We would be moulded into the best soldiers Quel’Thalas had ever seen. We would be the pride of our people, the saviours of our race. I swelled with pride as he lavished these words over us. They crashed on me like a waterfall, filling me with a sense of acceptance and purpose that I had been craving for so long. I remember, towards the end of his introduction, he mentioned our training. “You are all lacking,” he spoke truthfully. None of us had wielded blade beyond our little militia. “And we are not gifted with the time to train you as we would normal soldiers of the Sun Throne. You are needed now, and every second we waste is more time for the Scourge to assault our walls!” He glared at me as I had coughed, trying to suppress a chuckle. I tried my very hardest not to, but the irony of his long winded ramble juxtaposed with his need for urgency tickled me. “Step forward!” his voice remained calm and smooth. It was daunting. I very shakily stood away from the crowd. “Stand here, miss…?” he pointed next to him as he awaited my name. “Skydancer,” I informed him quietly. “Miss Skydancer,” he repeated grimly, as if noting forever that I would be trouble. “Miss Skydancer here has just pointed out the very trouble we have. You are all undisciplined. You will be fast-tracked to glory. If the filthy humans can train their young to bear arms in a matter of years, we will train you tenfold of their ability in half the time! “It will require hard work, determination and perseverance. It will be painful and those of you who fail and step out of line,” he backhanded me. I yelped loudly as his plated hand tore flesh from my cheek and left me reeling to the floor in an unceremonious heap. I heard the crowd murmur at the sight, and shakily looked back to him. His green eyes burned into mine, “those of you who step out of line will be punished.” “DID THAT HURT?” I looked at the one who had asked me with narrowed eyes. We had been taken to our dormitories within the sanctum now and were being given the chance to get to know one another. “What do you think?” I nursed my sore cheek. It head been healed of the wound in a dramatic display of this new found power we were one day to wield, but it still ached and felt tender. “I think you’d better learn when to shut up,” he grinned at me. He had a charming face, well structured and pleasant to look at. I had trouble drawing my eyes from his teeth. “I think you’d better stop asking dumb questions.” I winced. A poor comeback. He chuckled loudly and went to sit down on one of five beds. The bed, I noticed, which was next to the one I had chosen as my own. The room was small and sparsely decorated, although even this was quite some luxury given our people’s newfound indulgence. Each bed made for one, with a thin, crimson cover and single pillow. The room was torch lit, with no window, giving it a cosy, yet somehow dangerous feel. It was as though I had stepped into the lair of an evil wizard, with the shadows flickering on the dark walls as the torches danced to our movements. The other three, all male, busied themselves sorting through their personal effects. I still stood uncomfortably in the middle of the room. Aside from tossing my small bag of belongings onto the first bed I saw, I had done little else to claim my space. I was uncomfortable in this den of masculinity. My mind was awash with all the things which I would have to do here that were so very against what I had been used to for my entire life. Getting was to be the biggest challenge. Beside each bed was a rack of simple armour, not as elegant or intimidating as that of our superiors, but it would do the job. Did-That-Hurt had prised his eyes from me, shaking his head slightly as he began to tug his shirt over his head. I blushed and looked away, finding another fixing his chain-mail across his chest. I decided the floor was the best place for me to look. “You’ve got to try it on,” Did-That-Hurt walked towards me, carrying the chest from my rack and tossing it into my arms. He was still shirtless, and I silently cursed myself for getting a funny feeling in my tummy. “They need to know if it fits so they can make changes fast.” The pain in my cheek reminded me that I would have to overcome my shyness, unless I wanted another run-in with a plated fist. I gave a reluctant nod of thanks to Did-That-Hurt, and stepped over to the rest of my armour. I felt four pairs of eyes on me, but I dared not meet any of them. My heart thumped in my chest, never before used to having such attention fixed on me. “Grow up,” I muttered at them all. Three of them chuckled and went about their business. Did-That-Hurt continued to fix his eyes on me. “What is it?” I stared blankly at him, fed up enough to have unbuttoned my shirt. The sooner I got over it, the better. “You’re quite different, you know?” “Am I?” Yes, I knew. I had spent my entire adolescence being ridiculed for it, thank you very much! “I’m not quite sure if I like it…” he glanced at my breasts, clicked his tongue against his teeth then continued to dress himself. I felt compelled to leap across my bed and begin to beat him into the nether and at the same time my heart raced at the thought of the closeness that would entail. I made a stupid, frustrated grunt at him and tugged the chain-mail over my head. Too small, as I had imagined. I flopped down onto my bed, wondering if this all really had been a good decision or not. The wooden supports under my mattress creaked. I was not impressed. WE TRAINED PHYSICALLY for weeks on end. For hours a day we would be working on endurance, learning to move in heavier armour and learning how to wield sword and shield. Whilst we saw glimpses of our pre-trained brethren already manipulating magics of which we were blissfully unaware, we had little time to speculate what they may be, or where they came from. I was by no means expert at swordsmanship off the mark. Our first lessons were almost painfully embarrassing for me. “What is this?” My instructor pointed to the cross-guard. I hesitated, bit my lip and drooped my ears. “The hand protector?” “This?” His tone had become frustrated, his fingers now resting on the pommel. “I don’t know,” I had to be honest. I swallowed a lump in my throat, feeling a little more than ashamed as he sheathed my sword and handed it back to me forcefully. Physically I wasn’t as hindered. My technique was shabby, as it would be for anyone who had little experience with such things. I had developed bad habits as I had worked in the militia which were becoming hard to shake, but I held my own in spars easily. It was this aspect of my initial training I loved the most. Sword fighting gave me a rush and it was something I was good at. I didn’t feel grudging when I practiced my technique, and would often stay after hours in the Square working against the target dummies until I would be moved along by the Arcane Patroller making me feel guilty about my noise. I wish I were able to say that I excelled in all aspects of my training thus, but as has already been told, I was not perfect. As I had been warned; it hurt. Initially I was easily exhausted and my muscles would burn and ache after mere minutes of working myself on exercises or combat drills. I complained. This was a mistake, but my mind was yet to be fashioned into that of a soldier. For all the hardships I had endured surviving after the invasion, I was still not prepared for this life. For my complaining, even if it were as small as a whimper, I would be punished. Sometimes the plated fist paid me a visit again. They weren’t harsh beatings, but more akin to how you would treat an unruly pet. They stung enough to remind me not to do that, whatever that was, again. At other times I was made to do extra drill, or perfect my pose (Back straight! Shoulders up! Chest forward!), or scrub up. Both my armour and my appearance needed work, so said my superiors. “She’s like some human mongrel with rat-tails for hair! She should take better care of herself.” They talked about me as though I wasn’t right next to them. “This isn’t the image we want.” I resented his assessment of me. Again, my physique was cause for ridicule amongst some here, although I had become above taking true offence for such things. My hair and skin were another matter, though. I was being worked off my feet, and the moment I had time free, I slept. I would wash, of course I would, but the frequency of my grooming and the care I put into my appearance was, shall we say, minimal. I simply no longer possessed the time to tend to my hair in the mornings. Yet it was, apparently, expected of me to do so. And so it was yelled into me that I must look more presentable and that I must try harder in almost all aspects of my training. The shyness I had about changing in my dormitory was soon stripped from me, simply through the necessity to act faster, and more efficiently. The faster I changed, the more time I could spend on appearances. The more time I had to sleep. Thankfully, as the other progressed along with me, they too no longer had the time to bother themselves with gawping as I changed, aside from Did-That-Hurt, who always cast a cheeky glance. In fact, aside from me being forced to look presentable, I very much found myself as ‘one of the boys’ within our little room. “Nayella sure looks like a gem in training leathers. Don’t you think, Soraya?” The one closest to the door bought me into their midnight conversation, drawing me from shining my sword. “Why should I know?” My green eyes dimly illuminated the wall behind him. “You can tell when a girl’s pretty, can’t you?” “I guess.” “He only wants to know if you’d be jealous if he brought her back to the dorm one night!” The one beside him chuckled as a boot flew towards his head. “Why would I be jealous?” “Exactly,” Did-That-Hurt chimed in. “She only has eyes for one elf in this room, right?” I stayed silent for a while. The truth was, I had been thinking of him. Not much, but I had. My romantic interests were still far overshadowed by thoughts of Thaladien, and every time I felt a pang of lust for another, I would reprimand myself. The battle went on almost constantly, feeling guilty and then reminding myself Thaladien was dead. Unless I wanted to be very lonely for a very long time, I had to move on. “Not really,” I tried to remain impartial. “I doubt she’s even had sex!” The room fell awkwardly silent, save for the sound of me scrubbing to blade of my weapon harder than what was necessary. I wasn’t going to give any of them the satisfaction of an answer. Before long conversation fell back into an easier topic, and by the next hour, we blew out our candles and rested for sleep. Most of us, anyway. I heard the rustling of sheets and then a gentle touch to my forehead as fingertips brushed aside my hair. I stirred slowly from my pre-sleep, only to see Did-That-Hurt placing his finger to his lips, shushing me. “Is it true?” He spoke quietly. So quietly I almost had trouble hearing him. “What?” My voice was a little loud, I winced as one of the others mumbled in his sleep. “About sex.” “What about sex?” My heart began thumping through my chest. I willed it quiet lest he hear how ridiculous I was, but it wouldn’t shut up. “About you, and lack of it,” he drew closer to me, beginning to lift my sheets. I slapped his hand and he withdrew like a naughty kitten. I regretted it almost immediately. “Yes,” I admitted quietly. “That’s a crime.” I swallowed hard. I found his crudeness strangely flattering. “It’s also a good distraction,” he continued. “From what?” “Everything.” Next I knew he was on top of me, kissing me, his hands straying across my skin. I gasped and shut my eyes. My bed creaked loudly; once, twice, a gently rhythm forming. I remember being uncomfortable. I felt suffocated and crushed, his hand held over my mouth to keep things quiet. He was right, it was distracting. He lay on top of me once it was over, catching his breath. I remained a tingling mess, not entirely sure what had just happened. Without a word he rolled away, stumbling back towards his own bed. I pulled the sheets back over myself and turned onto my side, trying my best to ignore the three pairs of eyes I had seen peering at me through the darkness. AROUND EVERY OTHER day for the next week and a half my bed would be creaking. It was over almost as quickly as it had started, though. Midweek, on a field combat exercise Did-That-Hurt was shot through the head by an Amani scout. I’m not ashamed to tell I didn’t really feel anything at all. Death was already beginning to lose its sway over me and we never really held a close bond. I don’t even recall his actual name. Having lost Thaladien in my youth, then living through the near extinction of my people, death simply seemed like looming shadow, waiting to pounce when we all least expected it. It was just my job to make sure that shadow never got me. Although death rarely fazed me anymore, it still scared me. Growing up, death was elusive and strange. It was reserved for the elderly, and even their deaths were private affairs, left to the bedchamber where they would live the last days of their long lives close to their most cherished. Now death was around every corner. Each morning as we ate together, we waited for the inevitable list of names that would be read of those who had died in combat for Quel’Thalas, either in the homelands, or out in the promised land of the nether. Sometimes it would be silent, but more often than not, at least one or two names would be called, and a moments silence would befall us all. I remember noticing, grimly, that as time went on, the names became more frequent, especially from the Outland. I could thank Did-That-Hurt for one thing and that was a confidence boost. I was already beginning to settle happily into my role as a Knight-Trainee, my standard of work slowly rising, the punishments and disciplinary beatings I received getting less and less. But it wasn’t until I had shaken off the weight of Thaladien, the inexplicable feeling that I was destined to wait for him, that my sexual confidence flourished. If there was one thing I had noticed about those who were doing well within the Order, it was a desire for power. Power entails knowing what one wants and grasping it without hesitation. Before the Fall, I had this power through being spoiled by my mother and father. I would get my way simply by asking for it. That did not work in the military, as I had been learning the hard way. Sexuality however, I quickly learned should never be underestimated. Did-That-Hurt had taught me that my body wasn’t something I need be ashamed of. It wasn’t typically attractive, but I was ‘interesting’ and in that revelation I held power. I did not use sex to get what I wanted. That would be equally stupid to whining, and it wasn’t how I wanted to live my life. Yet knowing what I wanted and not being afraid to grasp it let me develop socially nearly unhindered. I no longer worried if I were peered at as I trained or changed. I no longer stumbled over myself and became tongue-tied if I was propositioned. If I wanted it, I would take it. If I didn’t, I was able to say no with ease. To be so sure of oneself is a power beyond any tangible thing and once all my mental baggage had been stripped, I had been able to control it with ease. If there was something I was vaguely aware of as I trained in the Order, it was that I was finding it harder and harder to recognise my old self as they moulded me. In many respects I was becoming more proper. My mannerisms had improved, and I walked with the poise and gait of a well trained soldier. Everything about me breathed a life in the military, from the way I kept my hair from my eyes, to the near perfect placement of the clothes across my body. Folds and creases were no longer acceptable, and a tattered gown would no longer suffice in casual company. Yet, on the other hand I was acting in ways which I previously would have frowned upon. My opinions of people were forged in ruthless elitism. The weaker amongst our group deserved everything they got, and I was certain they wouldn’t last to the end of our training. On top of that, I often found myself creeping down the dark corridors at night, taking my ‘little distractions’ as and when I pleased them off the all-too-willing males I had singled out for such things. The woman I had become was a far cry from the girl I had been. I didn’t really miss her. OUR INITIATION WAS completed in a shorter time than I had imagined. Those Knights who already had the training had long since been filtered out into various roles. Some were remained close to home, leading us, the fresh batch whereas other were sent far away as either escorts to the pilgrims or soldiers of the Sun Throne in Outland. I was beyond relieved that I mad made it so far. I was decidedly average by this point. I still didn’t possess the prowess of those who had been dealing with the life of a soldier longer than I had, but I stood my own and performed well. Now it was time to move onto the next chapter. To be introduced, we all knew, to the antechamber; the room in which whispers of our power lay. We were taken one at a time, an entire day dedicated to introducing those of us who had obtained Knighthood to the source of powers we were to learn to wield. The corridors seemed to get darker the further I walked down them, my escort deathly silent. Out footsteps echoed off the walls, a near perfect sync of the sound of plated boots and rattling armour bouncing around us in the quiet under-halls. I was nervous of this revelation, unsure if I would be able to control this power as I was expected, if at all. I remembered my youth at the academy; my sheer inability to control the arcane beyond anything rudimentary. I feared, as I approached the end of the flame-lit corridor, that I would fall at this hurdle. My escort stopped a good twenty feet from where large, crimson drapes covered the entrance to the antechamber. I continued a step or two ahead, glancing back over my shoulder as I realised he was no longer beside me. “You can make the rest of the way alone,” he instructed me with little tone to his voice. I nodded at him, took a deep breath and made my way forwards. I became aware of a chime as I approached. It was like singing, yet somehow darkened and sad as though a child’s lament. Louder than that, I could hear the whir of the arcane, the tell-tale sounds of powerful spell sin constant motion. My ears twitched slightly as my resolve buckled, the back of my hand pressed lightly to the thick drape. I took a deep breath, and walked in. I had to shade my eyes from the brightness that suddenly hit me like a wall. Floating in the middle of the tall room was a creature unlike any I had witness in my life. It oozed energy and radiance, a dark magenta aura expelling from each of it’s twisting, shuffling limbs. It wasn’t an animal or person as such, rather a gathering of energy, segments of its body breaking apart, twisting around and reforming again in perfect symmetry. Although really featureless, I felt as I dared to raise my eyes to the beast, that it had a face and that it was staring at me. An angry chime filled my ears, making me wince a little. I suddenly became tinged with a slight guilt, flicking my gaze around the room to see the magisters hard at work who had it imprisoned with their spells. They paid no attention to me as I entered. It sang at me again, frustrated once more from what I could tell. I had to cover my ears, wishing for it to shut up. “Just don’t listen to it,” a silken voice spoke above the noise of the room. Matriarch Liadrin approached me. Startled, I slammed my fist a little too hard to my chest in an overzealous salute. I regretted it for the remained of the conversation, feeling sore and a little tight for breath, and knowing all to well she hadn’t been impressed with the sight. “Milady,” I inclined my head as I addressed her, trying not to stare over her shoulder at the floating creature. She motioned for me to follow around the edges of the chamber, leading me to a small group of elves in exceedingly expensive robes. I knew the Magisterium’s brightest when I saw them and dipped my head in respect as I approached. Liadrin introduced them to me one by one, making particular note of Astalor Bloodsworn, who she referred to as her benefactor. He nodded at me politely, the sort of gesture I expected from a priest to a loved follower of the Light. I could tell from his demeanour and the way in which the Matriach addressed him that we were, in one way or another, indebted to this magister. I managed to throw him a quick salute, more professional this time, before I was again taken aside by one of his aides. “We don’t have long,” he began, clearly believing what he said. He spoke with such haste I sometimes found it difficult to keep up. “We call this a naaru. It is a being of pure light energy gifted to out people by the Sun King.” I wanted to ask questions, but he continued. “Although intended for all to feed on, Magister Bloodsworn saw a better use for it, and after much experimentation the Magisterium developed techniques to imbue elves with the ability to wield its light.” I opened my mouth again. He brought a frustrated hand up to my face to shut me up. “Matriach Liadrin was the first sin’dorei to test the powers and from her the Blood Knight Order was founded. You are not mere foot soldiers miss…?” “Skydancer,” I sounded a little too excited at finally getting a word in. “Miss Skydancer. You are more than that. You are masters of the Light which so abandoned our people. Divine justice and retribution against all of our enemies! By bending this creatures power to your very will, you, a Blood Knight, will have power and control to sway battles in your favour. You will crush your enemies underfoot!” I swallowed hard. His words were powerful. They made my heart race faster than I ever remembered. The ringing was no longer in my ears, replaced instead with the fast, heavy thump of my heart. All this glory was to be expected of me. It was in my grasp for the taking. This creature – the being of the Light that so scorned our people in a time of need was now ours to do as we willed. The Light was under our command. command. “We will teach you.” My lips curled into a satisfied grin.